


The Food Bank

by virginiasparrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Bathroom Sex, Dammit I Spelt Person Wrong CBA To Change It, F/F, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hermione Granger Really Can’t Hide Her Thoughts, Hermione Granger is Bad at Feelings, I Hate WritingIn Third Persom, Narcissa Black Malfoy Is Very Seggsy, Narcissa Please Marry Me, i said what i said, yes you heard that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:53:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29714697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virginiasparrow/pseuds/virginiasparrow
Summary: Hermione Weasley volunteers twice a week at a muggle Food Bank. One day, she runs into a new volunteer - Narcissa Malfoy.—One shot
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 112





	The Food Bank

‘It is a truth universally acknowledged that the Second Wizarding War could not have been won without the Golden Trio. It is not, however, a truth universally acknowledged that the Golden Trio could not have won the Second Wizarding War without the help of Narcissa Malfoy.

Despite this, the backlash against the Malfoys after the rubble had cleared and the dust had settled rivalled only Voldemort himself. Hermione could hardly blame them. The family represented everything that was wrong with the wizarding world - they were arrogant, elitist and prejudiced. 

No one had seen Narcissa Malfoy since the war ended. Hermione knew that Rita Skeeter had gone to great lengths to try and track her down. How that woman had kept her job, she’d never know. 

There were even rumours that Narcissa was dead. Hermione couldn’t quite bring herself to care. She had grown very cynical very quickly after the war began.

Hermione gradually gravitated more and more towards the muggle world. She thought she could find an escape there - find a world that viewed her as something more than just one-third of the Golden Trio.

To put it simply, she was wrong. So very wrong.

"Mrs Malfoy?" Hermione stuttered. The can of beans she had been stacking hovered in the air. It took a considerable amount of effort not to drop them.

"Mrs Weasley. How... surprising," said Narcissa. She, too, was holding a can of beans.

Hermione didn’t quite know what to say. Suddenly, she felt very small. Narcissa Malfoy was standing in front of her with a cool mask of indifference as if they had bumped into each other in Diagon Alley dressed in wizarding robes with wands and bags full of clothes from Madame Malkins.

This was not the case.

Narcissa Malfoy was in jeans. Jeans! They hugged her hips in a disorienting way. Hermione’s jeans never looked like that on her. The black blazer she wore was rolled casually up at the sleeves. Casual was not a word that was often used when it came to Narcissa, and this painted a complete paradox to the image that Hermione had built up in her head about the mother of her childhood bully. There was a light blue high vis jacket on Narcissa’s shoulders and it complimented her soft blonde hair and bright, silver eyes as if it was custom made for her. If it was, Hermione wouldn’t be surprised.

Then, the beans. The can of beans. They told so much and so little at the same time.

Hermione realised she was staring.

"I-I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what to say."

"I apologise." Narcissa was stiff. Her knuckles were white where she clutched the can of beans at her side. "I can see that this is going to be a problem. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake."

"No!" She stopped her from turning to leave. Narcissa stared at the Gryffindor silently. Hermione almost wished her face would show her something, anything, so she could gauge what how the woman was feeling. "Sorry. Did you - were you aware that I was going to be here?"

Narcissa let out a small huff. Then her eye twitched, as if she was physically recoiling at having shown so much emotion in that single exhale of air. She must have been out of practice at hiding her feelings.

"Of course not, Mrs Weasley." Her voice was formal - too formal. Hermione’s brain was struggling to catch up with the images she was seeing. Everything felt surreal. The tin of beans in her hand felt hard and cold. "Do you not think that, had I known you were here, I would have chosen somewhere else? This was merely an unfortunate coincidence. There are plenty of other Food Banks in muggle London. I will simply enquire elsewhere."

Narcissa suddenly reminded her of where they were. In a Food Bank. In London. Specifically, standing between two rows of supermarket-style metal shelving adorned with hundreds of packets of food. There were, of course, tins of beans. There were also tins of sweet corn, soup, even custard, packets of pasta and rice, boxes of cereal and carton milk and carton orange juice. It was a colourful array of donations and Hermione had been halfway through counting tins of beans when Narcissa arrived with her own can to add to the selection.

"No, you shouldn’t have to leave because of me. I’m sorry for my initial reaction." Hermione held out a hand. Narcissa looked down at the hand, then back up at the other woman in confusion. She began to reach out, still baffled.

"Is this some sort of muggle -"

"No," Hermione laughed despite herself, pulling her outstretched hand away from Narcissa and then repeating the gesture. "I want the beans."

"Oh." Narcissa looked a bit embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed red, and Hermione detected a small flicker in her wrist as if she was trying to wordlessly and wandlessly stop the colour from spreading down to her neck. To Hermione’s surprise, the spell seemed to work. Narcissa’s cheeks returned to a fair shade of cream.

"Is this your first day?" Hermione asked, turning to put the can on the shelf.

"Yes," Narcissa responded stiffly. She offered no further information. Hermione felt awkward, so she returned to what she knew to distract her - work. 

"Can you grab that box of cereal and bring it to me, please?"

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. 

It was odd, they both knew it. 

A few seconds passed as they stared at each other before Narcissa turned and walked to the end of the makeshift corridor. There were boxes of food stacked all over the grey linoleum floor. Her heeled boots clicked lightly as she strode away. Even in the middle of a warehouse in London, Narcissa acted as if she owned the place. Hermione had to admit she was impressed. It took a certain level of resilience.

Narcissa returned with the crate and Hermione ran through a mental checklist.

"Do they go on this shelf here?" Narcissa asked, raising a hand to point beside her. The gesture was short and simple, but even in the small wave of her arm, she exuded a level of confidence Hermione could only admire, never emulate.

"Yes," Hermione responded softly. There was not much else she could say. They shelved in silence for a while. Narcissa had clearly been briefed on how their system worked, and she didn’t make a single mistake. She was thorough and meticulous. Hermione found herself quite enjoying the air of understanding that had settled between them. Neither asked questions. Neither gave answers.

It was only when Hermione was halfway home that it all caught up with her. She doubled over, gasping for breath, clutching the black rails that ran along the outside of the imposing townhouses. Her knees felt weak, her heart heavy. Clammy palms balled into fists as she retched silently. Nothing came out. Had she eaten today? She couldn’t remember. Her watch jangled loosely on her thin wrist and she cursed aloud, breaking into a run for the bus. Hermione got on the red double decker just as the door closed, sweat trickling down her forehead. She took a window seat, but it was dark outside, and the only view was her own reflection in the steamy laminated glass. It was quite obvious that Hermione had let herself go. Her cheeks were gaunt, her eyes hollow. Wild curls sat unbridled atop her head, and the worry lines on her forehead ran deeper every day. 

Her shift at the Food Bank was an evening one. She’d leave after dinner - the day would be spent cooking and cleaning. Ronald wouldn’t entertain the idea of her taking a job with the kids around. Convincing him to let her volunteer was an arduous task stretching over months, and only came to a conclusion once she was able to reassure him that he would still come home to a hot, homemade dinner every night. That was what his mother did for his father or course. It was just the way things were.

Despite the negotiations, he only allowed her to go two nights a week. Putting the kids to bed every night was too much for him, even if Hermione got them up every morning. Secretly, Hermione couldn’t wait for Rose to go to Hogwarts just so she could start to have a life again. That was a long way away yet. Rose was only four and Hugo only two.

It was another week until Hermione saw Narcissa again. When Monday rolled around, Hermione found herself feeling quite excited. She detested Narcissa - of course she did, the woman was the wife of a death eater - regardless of her actions in the final battle. 

But Hermione was still combing her hair into place (to no avail) and dressing in fresh clothes and spritzing herself in a little bit of perfume she had saved from her last birthday for special occasions.

The air was cold and biting as Hermione headed down the street. Sirens wailed in the distance and there was a low hum in the air, a mix of all the different conversations happening on streets all over. It was the inescapable noise of a bustling city that wouldn’t stop. 

"Mrs Weasley," came a smooth voice as a slim figure sidled up next to her.

"Oh, hello Mrs Malfoy. Do you get off at this bus stop too?"

Narcissa looked confused for a moment as they stood still. "No, I apparate here."

"Oh. Right." Hermione swallowed nervously. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She wore the coat Ronald had bought her last year, but it had no pockets. She hated it.

"Mrs Weasley, I believe if we’re to work together we should clear some things up."

Hermione stared at Narcissa. It was interesting how she was able to summarise an entire war with just two words. Some things. Some things, indeed. How very diplomatic.

"You’re probably right."

"Would you like to accompany me to dinner tonight, after we finish?" Narcissa asked.

Hermione suddenly felt uncomfortable. She shifted on her feet. "I’m not sure - my husband, he..." Hermione trailed off.

There was a look in Narcissa’s eye that Hermione didn’t like. It was a knowing look. It was sympathetic. It was too much. Ronald was not like Lucius. Not even in the slightest.

"Of course, I understand."

"How about Thursday lunchtime?" I suggested. I knew the kids were staying with Molly then and Ronald was working. 

"That’s fine by me. Shall we meet back here at one o’clock?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded shortly. The words exchanged between them were brisk and quick, but the history they had said more than their lips ever could. 

Lips. Lip. Mouths. Mouth. Hermione suddenly looked at Narcissa’s lips. She traced the curve of her cupid’s bow and analysed the way they shone slightly in the cold, spring sun. They were quite magnificent. She shook her head and they began to walk towards the food bank. The silence between them was oddly comforting. 

They didn’t end up working together. Narcissa got taken on another tour of the warehouse, then she was taken elsewhere to help Melissa, the manager. Hermione should have been relieved, but she wasn’t. 

At ten o’clock Narcissa appeared by the door. Hermione watched the woman shrug her black trench coat on and gently pull away her hair from where it was caught. Struck by the light, the expanse of pale skin that stretched down from her jawline to her jutting collarbones was glittering and Hermione could not pull her eyes away.

"Good night, Mrs Weasley," Narcissa said curtly, nodding at Hermione as she made to leave. There seemed to be an underlying warmth to her words that sort of wrapped Hermione in a claustrophobic embrace. She had no time to respond before Narcissa had disappeared into the night.

Thursday rolled around with the speed that Hermione’s hair grew. Every day seemed to stretch longer, and longer. Hermione sat on the bus, clutching her wand in her pocket, counting backwards from 100 to stop herself from hexing the bus driver to make him go faster. 

Until finally, she was there. The bus stop. Hermione’s heart thudded in her chest. She was terrified. It felt almost like a first date - but that thought was preposterous and certainly didn’t make heat rise to her face. It was lucky she didn’t blush. If she did, her face would be the colour of a gooseberry.

"Hello, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione said, desperately trying to cling to a neutral facade. She thought that she had been able to keep her excitement out of her voice until an amused smile flickered on Narcissa’s face for a few seconds.

"Hello, Mrs Weasley. Shall we?"

Hermione’s face felt tight as she fell into step beside Narcissa, the younger of the two wrapping her arms protectively around her chest. Narcissa was tall - far taller than Hermione remembered, and a few times she had to crane her neck whenever she wanted to cast a sneaky glance up at the other woman.

"Have I got something on my face, Mrs Weasley?" Narcissa questioned. Hermione’s eyes flew away in panic. Perhaps not so sneaky after all.

"No! Sorry. I’m just... sort of mentally catching up with it all."

"Well, don’t try too hard. You might hurt yourself."

Hermione stared at her. Had Narcissa Malfoy just made a joke? The blonde’s voice had been soft and light in a way Hermione didn’t know it could be. There was no malice woven within her words, and it filled her heart with warmth for a reason she didn’t want to decipher.

Narcissa looked incredible. Of course she did. Hermione had always privately thought that Narcissa’s robes were just fantastic, but seeing her in muggle clothes was a completely different experience. Black, tailored trousers hugged her slim hips, running up to a tight-fitting blazer and loosely buttoned silk shirt. There was a pearl pendant sitting on her collar bones and her hair hung perfectly on her shoulders. It soon became a genuine challenge not to stare at her as she sauntered down the street, heels clicking on the pavement. There was a handbag on her arm, and she perched a pair of black sunglasses on her nose. Hermione was sure that they were Chanel.

"Here," Hermione held open a door to a brightly lit restaurant with glass doors and a red canopy. "This is my favourite restaurant. Romanelli’s. Best Italian in Southwark. Promise."

Narcissa pulled off her sunglasses and stared at Hermione for a moment. Her eyes were shocking; cool and quiet grey, but with a certain vitality, as if they saw what they were really looking at.

"I shall hold you to that, Mrs Weasley," Narcissa murmured, brushing past the witch to sweep into the small restaurant. It was bright and airy, with yellow light bulbs swinging above. Various booths stacked around the room offered varying degrees of privacy and there were pictures of pasta and garlic bread plastered on the cream-coloured walls alongside cursive Italian writing that no one could decipher. 

"Hi, I have a reservation for two. Should be under ‘Granger’." Hermione smiled at the young waitress. She tapped away on a screen for a few seconds before leading them to the furthest booth in the back corner of the restaurant, shielded from prying eyes. 

The waitress placed two menus in front of them and disappeared from view. The rest of the restaurant was bustling and it created a gentle ambience that alleviated any danger of awkward silence.

"So," Narcissa said, "How long have you been married to Mr Weasley?"

Hermione looked up. There was a glint in her eye. Ah, Slytherin. Hermione had almost forgotten. Narcissa had clearly heard the name Hermione had booked the table under, but a Slytherin would never ask outright.

"I booked the table under my maiden name because I used to come here a lot before I was married. The owner always recognises that name and puts me here when she can because it’s my favourite table."

Narcissa’s mouth had formed an ‘o’ in surprise at how forthright Hermione was being before she pursed her lips as if to cover the fact that she had visibly reacted to being caught. Before either of us could say anything more, the waitress appeared to take our order. Narcissa went first, deciding on a large glass of their best wine with her meal. It was only lunchtime. Despite this, Hermione still followed suit, although with a decidedly cheaper option.

"Mrs Weasley," Narcissa began, watching the waitress disappear for a moment before lazily drawing her sharp eyes to the young woman before her, "Am I to understand that you’ve taken me to your favourite table, in your favourite restaurant?"

Merlin. Hermione was very glad she didn’t blush. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire.

"Yes," Hermione half-whispered, her hands sweaty. Narcissa appeared to be trying to hide a smile, "Is that a problem?"

"On the contrary, Mrs Weasley," Narcissa responded, "I find it rather endearing."

"I suppose if we’re to be working together, you ought to call me Hermione."

"Hermione it is, then. You may call me Narcissa."

"Alright. Narcissa," Hermione said with a smile. She felt a rushing feeling pass through her, right from the tips of her toes all the way up to the very top of her head. The young woman realised she had never actually said Narcissa’s name aloud before. It sounded lovely - like the wrinkle of soft linen sheets in a breeze on a hot summer's day.

"If you’ll excuse me," Narcissa made to stand up, "I must powder my nose. I won’t be a minute."

"Of course." Hermione bit back a smile as Narcissa receded. Powder her nose? She didn’t realise people even said that any more. A quiet chuckle escaped her lips as she sat back until she realised what she was doing.

Why was she here? Dining with the wife of a death eater? Hermione refused to preface ‘death eater’ with ‘former’. Had Voldemort won, Lucius never would have renounced his title. He was still a death eater. He always would be. Narcissa didn’t divorce him after the war - as far as Hermione was concerned, they probably still lived together. She shuddered. This was wrong on so many levels. How had she let herself be wooed into coming here?

Hermione grabbed her bags and gathered her coat, beginning to shift out of the booth.

"Is everything alright?" Narcissa’s voice filtered through the din of the Italian restaurant. She actually managed to sound concerned. Hermione bit back a scoff - Slytherin’s didn’t care for anyone but themselves. Then she made the mistake of looking up. Hurt flashed across Narcissa’s features for a moment before she seemed to steel herself and her eyes hardened.

"Yes, everything’s fine," Hermione croaked. She watched Narcissa slide back into the booth with a grace the Queen herself would envy.

"Please," she drawled, "Don’t let me stop you. There’s a crowd of muggles by the door. The back exit might provide a quicker escape."

The wine arrived. Even the waitress seemed to notice the tension thick in the air and she disappeared quickly. Narcissa raised a glass to her lips and stared. Hermione sat back with a deflated sigh and placed her belongings back where they had been beside her.

"This is strange, you have to admit. You’re married to a death eater, you’re - you’re a Slytherin!"

Narcissa cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed. "For a woman of your reputation, Hermione, you’re rather dense."

"Excuse me?" Hermione gaped, not quite sure she was hearing correctly.

"Lucius and I divorced in 1999."

"But - but - I called you Mrs Malfoy and you -"

"Yes, Hermione," Narcissa was smirking now, "We’ve been divorced for ten years. Our divorce anniversary is coming up soon. I’ll have to celebrate. I allowed you to call me by the wrong name so as not to draw unnecessary attention to myself."

Hermione let the words sink in. She reached for the glass of wine and took an ungrateful gulp before pulling the glass away to stare at it suspiciously.

"This tastes good."

"Astute observation.”

"No, I mean - really good. Too good." Hermione eyed the blonde. 

Narcissa crossed her legs beneath the table, and her leg brushed against Hermione’s. The Gryffindor thought for a moment she might pass out.

"Fine, you caught me, brightest witch of her age," Narcissa rolled her eyes, and Hermione wondered if the typically standoffish woman had been drugged, "I spoke to the waitress and asked her to bring a bottle of their Zonin Amarone and two glasses. I couldn’t sit here and watch you drink that awful Anfora Bianca you ordered." Hermione gaped at her. "It was more for me than anything. Besides, I’m paying."

"You most certainly are not!" Hermione baulked.

Narcissa smirked. "Yes, I am. Considering you tried to leave before we even got to the starter, I think you owe me."

Hermione was thoroughly chastised. "Fine. But next time, I pay."

"Next time, Hermione?"

Oh, how Hermione wished she thought before she spoke. Instead of stammering out a response, she took another sip of that delicious wine. The room began to feel a little warmer - even with Narcissa’s icy gaze fixated on her. Narcissa seemed very pleased with herself.

Hermione took the opportunity to change the subject. "So, tell me about how you managed to slip a divorce past the infamous Rita Skeeter?"

Narcissa was definitely biting back a smile now. 

"The divorce happened almost as soon as the war ended. There was so much going on, it slipped under the radar. A lot of people were angry at us for getting off lightly, and after Harry’s testimony on my behalf they realised the only way they could get back at Lucius was through our divorce."

"Did they realise, or did you make them realise?" Hermione questioned.

"I may have given the Wizaengamot a bit of... guidance. Needless to say, I came out on top."

"As you always do," Hermione said neutrally. Narcissa watched her carefully. The younger woman’s hand shook ever so slightly as she held up her glass. The red liquid swirled like thick blood. Hermione knew very well what that looked like. "Cheers."

"Cheers." Narcissa’s voice was hardly above a whisper. Their glasses clinked together as they stared into the others’ eyes and steeled themselves with a large sip of wine. 

"Where did you go after that?”

"I cleared out Malfoy Manor. Draco didn’t want it, and I didn’t either." Narcissa looked down and cleared her throat. "It held too many bad memories." Hermione struggled to keep herself upright. Memories. Bad memories. Malfoy Manor. The room was spinning. Where was she? Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix. Crucio. Shit. "Hermione?"

A warm hand pressed on top of hers. Hermione stilled at the contact and looked up.

"Narcissa," Hermione breathed. The hand was so soft, gentle - yet firm. And so warm, so much warmer than she had expected. It brought her gently back down to reality. 

"Malfoy Manor is gone." Narcissa sat back. Her hand slipped away. Hermione made a conscious effort not to reach out and try and stop her. All of a sudden, she felt cold without the woman’s touch. "I burnt it down."

"You what!?”

The waitress arrived with their food.

Narcissa grinned. 

That was the moment Hermione’s heart stopped beating. 

The wine was strong, and her head was fuzzy, but she could see clear as anything the radiant smile of the woman in front of her. In fact, Hermione had never had such clarity in all her life. Suddenly, the whole of her existence leading up to now felt like she had been living under a cloud of darkness and Narcissa’s smile had just lifted it completely. Her lips stretched back across her face revealing perfect teeth and her eyes drew upwards, wrinkling at the corners. It was a bewitching sight. Hermione was trapped and free all at once.

"Draco didn’t want it. I didn’t want it. Lucius most certainly wasn’t going to have it, so," Narcissa continued to smile broadly, "I burnt it down."

"You’re crazy," Hermione whispered in awe.

"It’s been said." Narcissa’s smile reduced to a smirk and for a moment Hermione could breathe again. "After that, I realised the only way to live a life without..." Narcissa paused, drawing her gaze level to Hermione’s, "Well, every time I walked down Diagon Alley there would be one or two people, barely fresh out of Hogwarts, and instead of glaring or hissing or even hexing me their faces would just turn ashen and their eyes would brim with tears. I reminded so many people of the most horrific period of their lives. I may not have had an active hand but I was complicit. It wasn’t fair to the victims of Voldemort to walk through Wizarding London with my head held high. When someone began to have some sort of panicked fit after seeing me in Gringotts I knew things had to change."

"So you left for the muggle world," Hermione finished in a whisper. Hearing Narcissa talk so frankly about her experiences was both unsettling and eye-opening.

"Precisely. Ten points to Gryffindor."

"Stop it." Hermione smiled shyly. Even disguised as a light joke, receiving praise from the woman made her feel like the greatest witch in the world.

“I spent the last ten years flitting about Dubai, Thailand, Slovenia. Rita didn’t bother to leave Britain, so it wasn’t hard to avoid the press. Now I’m back.” Narcissa let out a sigh but offered no more information.

“I wonder how long it will be before she catches wind of you.” Hermione grinned. Her glass was empty. Narcissa leant forward to refill it. The red wine sloshed audibly. Only one other sound reached Hermione’s ears, and that was the low hum of the Slytherin as she moved subtly forward, pressing her chest together as she leant on her elbow. Her pearl necklace dipped between her breasts and swung slightly. Hermione averted her eyes instantly.

“I’m sure the news will break soon. After all, she seems to be particularly interested in you as of late.”

“Don’t I know it,” Hermione sighed, “Thank you.” She picked up her full glass and tipped it towards her mouth. “I’m starting to think that she’s in love with me or something.”

“I’ve had that thought many times,” Narcissa tilted her head back and gave a short, melodic laugh. Once again, Hermione was entranced. “I think if she saw us together she might genuinely combust.”

“Look at you, with your fancy muggle terms.”

Narcissa flushed slightly and tilted her head downwards, as if trying to hide it. “I’m a woman of many talents, Hermione.”

The way she said her name made Hermione feel as if she was whispering it right in her ear. She felt drunk off of that alone. Something in the air between them was dangerous now. Hermione thought it best to change the subject again. “I think I’m going to combust after eating all of this pasta.”

“You’re not alone.” Narcissa’s eyes were warmer now. Her lips were stained red with wine and Hermione found herself wondering how they would taste. Heat pooled in her stomach. She had been staring at the older woman’s lips for far too long. Had Narcissa noticed? Hermione couldn’t tell.

“Dessert?”

Narcissa’s eyes darkened at Hermione’s question. Hermione didn’t know why. Narcissa let out a sigh and clutched her stomach. “I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. I’m completely full.”

“Same here.” Hermione let out a reluctant giggle. Was the night over already? The waitress brought over the bill. There were more protestations and - Narcissa had a muggle credit card? Wonders never cease. Narcissa ignored Hermione and paid. Hermione tried not to let her eyes go crossed at the sight of the bill. The wine almost cost more than both of their meals. 

Hermione was once again staring at Narcissa, who was concentrating on digging out her purse for a tip. She thought it was rather incredible that they were here together right now. Out of all the places in London to volunteer, Narcissa chose the place that Hermione worked at. It really was a trick of fate.

“Hermione? You’re staring.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She had been caught. Shit. Hermione was at a loss for words. They both slid out of the booth, Hermione not quite as graceful as Narcissa, and they slipped on their coats. Hermione leant over to grab her handbag, and when she straightened up, she realised she was a lot closer to Narcissa than she had originally thought. Her eyes flickered to the other woman’s lips. The room seemed to be spinning.

“Are you alright, Hermione? You look hot.” Narcissa lifted a hand and pressed the back of her fingers against Hermione’s forehead. They grazed her cheeks slightly as they travelled upwards and Hermione shivered, but her palms were clammy and her breath erratic. “Merlin. You’re boiling.” Narcissa seemed breathless. Her hands traced down the side of Hermione’s face and came to rest on her collar bones as she unconsciously stepped closer. “You - You might have come down with a cold.” She whispered.

“I can assure you,” Hermione said hoarsely, “I have never felt more hot.”

“Oh?” Narcissa barely made a sound. In fact, Hermione wasn’t sure she did.

It was all too much. Hermione couldn’t take it. The waitress was staring. Narcissa’s eyes were a roaring flame. They burned with a ferocious intensity. Her lips were wet. Hermione’s lips were trembling. There was magic sparking in the air. She had to get out.

“I - bathroom. Powder nose,” Hermione stammered, taking a nervous step back before running past Narcissa. She barrelled around the corner, diving into the toilets. They were nice - bright, airy and clean, but Hermione had never felt more claustrophobic. The tap water was freezing. It shocked her as she splashed it against her face. Deep breaths. In, out. Hermione began to calm down.

The door burst open. Narcissa burst in. She was breathing heavily. Hermione stared at her in shock. Seconds passed in silence. Narcissa slammed the door behind her with the bottom of her heel. Hermione could hear her own blood pounding in her ear. She had never seen Narcissa’s eyes look this dark. A lock clicked. Narcissa slowly strode across the length of the room. Seconds passed. Or minutes, or hours.

Nails scraped Hermione’s scalp as Narcissa dragged her hands through Hermione’s hair. Her thumbs came to rest on Hermione’s cheeks. More silence. There was too much to say and not enough words. All there was were lips, hands, eyes, necks. Narcissa’s head drew closer, but it was Hermione who surged forward and locked their lips together in a passionate embrace. 

Narcissa swung Hermione around and backed her against the door, and the dance began. Legs pressed between thighs, gasps, moans, Narcissa’s teeth on Hermione’s neck. Biting, scratching, gentle pulls and soft tugs. Hermione was lost completely. She could hardly control herself. Her hands were wandering. Fabric, too much fabric. Hermione tugged at the zip on Narcissa’s trousers.

Narcissa’s hands again. This time, pressing Hermione’s head down. The proud Gryffindor dropped to her knees. The pressure on her head was enough to send her over the precipice. Hermione placed her tongue between Narcissa’s thighs in the middle of Romanelli’s fucking bathroom, and she realised that there was no going back from here. She was well and truly under Narcissa’s spell.


End file.
